A Meeting at Night
by Lynn Saunders
Summary: Amorous meetings at night. Chapter 1: A wedding night. Chapter 2: A homecoming.
1. A Meeting at Night

**A Meeting at Night**

by Lynn Saunders

* * *

_Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; three fields to cross till a farm appears; a tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch and blue spurt of a lighted match, and a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears, than the two hearts beating each to each! - Robert Browning_

**April 1919**

He folds the little note with trembling fingers and tucks it into his waistcoat pocket, waiting until the others have turned in for the night before climbing the stairs to his room, knowing every minute he delays is a minute without her. He regards the line of his jaw in the mirror, deciding a shave is well worth the time. He adjusts and straightens, re-knots his tie, and takes one last look before leaving his solitary room, closing the door behind him with a click of finality.

In the guest corridor, the halls are quiet and empty. He stands before the door, placing his hand flat against the wood for a few moments before turning the knob and moving toward his future. The room is warm and softly lit, and she's not yet there. He experiences a beat, an instant of worry that she has changed her mind. Then he remembers the look in her eyes as she folded the scrap of paper into his palm, letting her fingertips linger against his wrist before walking away. He had stared at the private words, the lines that brought him here tonight, printed in her delicate hand, with simultaneous disbelief and gnawing want.

He moves to the foot of the bed, reaching out to touch the duvet, sliding the silky edge between his fingers. This is nice, he thinks, far more elegant than anything he could have hoped to provide for her tonight. He removes his watch, placing it on the mantle. The handle of his cane hooks nicely over the arm of the chair, and he sits, relaxed. Waiting.

When she slips into the room, slightly out of breath from the thrill of sneaking around, she's still in her maid's uniform, sans the apron and cap. She gives a little shrug and a secret smile, just as she might do on any other regular evening, and the contrast between what he sees in front of him and what he knows is on her mind makes him feel dizzy.

He stands and takes a step forward, offering his hand, an invitation. She comes to him slowly. Her fingers meet his, and she steps into his embrace, turning her face into his chest and breathing in. They remain pressed together for a long while, his large hands moving across her back, his heartbeat hypnotic beneath her ear.

He presses his lips to her hairline gently, then moves to kiss her forehead, her fine cheekbones, her nose. His hands frame her face, and he tilts her chin so that her eyes meet his before lowering his mouth to hers. He is utterly taken with her, mesmerized by the way her lips part in anticipation.

She touches his face in turn, letting her fingers slide across the plane of his cheek. His soap-spiced skin is smooth beneath her fingers. "You shaved for me?" She smiles, pleased.

His lips meet hers again, moving deeper, and she rises on tiptoe to meet him, his strong arms tight around her waist. She pushes at his coat, and he shrugs out of it, tossing it onto the chair behind them. He notes the faint tremor in her fingers as she unknots his tie, and he stills her hands gently with his. "If you're nervous, we can just…" He swallows hard. "Simply sleeping next to you tonight would far exceed my expectations."

Indeed, no more than a few hours ago, they were lamenting their need to remain apart for a while longer. He knows that Anna, because of her work and their previous encounters, is not completely naïve to the nature of the marriage bed, that she is inexperienced in practice but well-acquainted with the idea. It's been such a long time for him, too. He has experienced so many lonely nights, years of turning his face into his pillow in frustration. Even so, the frank desire he always sees mirrored back to him is something he couldn't anticipate, a gift he'd been too afraid to hope for. No one has ever responded to his touch as eagerly and fully as this normally gentle and reserved woman. She astonishes him. And now she's here and soft and perfect, with the warm glow of the candles dancing in her eyes, painting her hair silver and gold. In all honesty, he finds their current situation a little overwhelming, and he would truly be content to simply drift in the firelight, curled protectively around her, if that's what she wants.

He needn't worry; it's the intensity of his touch that's making her hands shake, the hot rush of excitement at the thought of finally being able to have him this way. She grasps the end of his tie between her thumb and forefinger, looking into his eyes as she slips the material from under his collar, allowing it to fall at their feet. "I'm not nervous," she whispers. "I'm with you."

He smiles, his warm hands moving to her waist as he backs her gently against the bedpost. "We have all night?"

She sighs as he stoops to trail his lips across her neck. "Yes-" Her reply is cut short as he moves to kiss her again, pressing into her, the cool ribbed wood of the bedpost firm against her spine.

When their lips part, he rests his forehead against hers. "Well then, I don't think we should hurry."

His attention returns to the creamy skin of her neck in earnest while her fingernails dig into his shirtsleeves, and he ventures under the collar of her dress, leaving a mark that will take a week to disappear. Later, when he's locked away, she will run her fingers over her love-bruised collarbone as she stands bared before the mirror in private, and she will think longingly of this moment.

Her fingers stray to the front of his waistcoat, working at the closure. He leans back slightly to assist her, tossing it to the floor as she starts to undo the buttons at the front of her dress.

"Wait," he says gently. "May I?"

She nods, suddenly embarrassed. "I didn't have time to get anything proper for a wedding night."

His hands slide flat across the backs of her shoulders. That she's wearing the same clothing he sees her in everyday, so familiar, the way he's imagined the two of them coming together for years, only makes him want her more. "You are beautiful."

She reaches out to run her fingers under his braces, using them to pull him closer as he makes quick work of her dress. She lets the fabric slip down her shoulders, and he slides the demure uniform over her hips, revealing a side of her that's reserved only for him. She steps out of her skirts somewhat awkwardly, leaning against him as he extends a hand to steady them against the bed frame.

"Shoes," she says, and they both laugh quietly together.

He watches, fascinated, as she bends to remove her heels, then slowly unclasps and removes her corset. Her peaked nipples stand out against the softness of her chemise as she reaches up to let down her hair, the soft curls falling around her face.

"Come here," he growls. He scoops her up and tosses her lightly onto the bed, and she gives a surprised squeal, clamping her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter.

"Be careful of your knee," she says, giggling.

"You'd be surprised at what I can still do." He removes his shoes in turn and approaches the bed, leaning over her to steal a kiss. "Is this alright?"

"Of course." She makes room for him to lay down, and he stretches his long body out beside her, propped on his elbow.

"What do you want to do now?" he asks, feigning innocence.

"I'm sure you know, Mr. Bates," she teases.

He runs the backs of his fingers across her cheek, traces the pad of his thumb over her lips, and his breath catches when they part to taste him. His strong hands graze the rise of her breasts through her chemise, and she sighs beneath him, closing her eyes. Her fingers slide to the back of his neck as he takes a nipple into his mouth through the fabric, the sensation cutting into her.

"Call me John," he whispers against her breast.

"Hmm?" she asks dreamily.

He pulls away so that he can look into her eyes. "Call me John?"

"John," she whispers, smiling at the foreignness of the word.

He grins at her. "What?" he asks, gently freeing her breast from its silken confines. His mouth closes around her bare nipple, sending a burning jolt of pleasure zinging through her like a live wire.

"John," she sighs, her fingers tangling in his hair. She will say his first name once more tonight, later, as his tongue moves between her thighs and she shatters against him for the second time.

She can't slide his braces off of his shoulders from her current position, so she settles for untucking his dress shirt, then his undershirt, letting her small fingers creep beneath, across his bare back. He gets the message, letting her nipple fall from his mouth, wet and glistening, so that he can remove more of the layers between them.

He sheds his braces as she works at his shirt buttons, but he quickly becomes frustrated. He yanks both of the offending articles off over his head and throws them to the floor before covering her with his body once more.

She sighs at the feel of his pleasant weight pushing her into the bed, his broad shoulders bare beneath her hands as he envelops her, solid and warm. Instinctually, her hips shift to receive him, and she starts at the contact as he settles between her thighs. She can feel the hot, hard length of him even through their clothes.

"Oh," she smiles against his lips. "That's nice." She slides the instep of her stockinged foot up the back of his leg, and he shivers as she begins to rock against him subtly, falling into a primal rhythm, old as time.

Suddenly, she finds herself on the verge of something hot and bright, wonderful, and she struggles toward the sensation building deep within her. He senses her quickening, and he asks her what she needs, whispers the question against her ear, continually amazed that she can come so close to the edge with little more than his touch.

"I need…" She's not sure what she needs. She feels empty, agitated, almost frantic in her desire to ease the burning ache centering low in her belly. She wants him to melt into her. She tells him this, and he groans, rolling them onto their sides, one long leg snaking between hers. He wets his index finger and touches it to the hollow of her throat.

"I think I know what you need," he says, tucking her hair behind her ear, "if you trust me."

She does, completely. That is her answer.

He gently separates himself from her and rises from the bed, gathering the pillows together in a mound against the headboard. She rests on her knees, watching.

"Come here." He crooks a finger toward her, and she moves to sit at the edge of the bed. He slides his hands down her silken thighs, carefully removing her stockings and knickers. Her fingers move to his trousers, and he takes a shuddering breath as she peels the last of his clothing away.

She runs her fingers through the mat of hair that crosses his chest, the trail that dips low and thins across his navel before reemerging to frame his sex. She slips her arms around his neck, rising to stand beside him. His large hands skim her thighs, running under her chemise, across her buttocks, and up the curve of her her back. He removes the thin fabric in one motion, drawing his hands across her flushed skin. He holds her as they stand bared to one another completely, absolutely nothing separating them for the first time, and she's never felt anything like this, the way their bodies meld together, the sweet heat of his skin seeping through into hers.

He settles onto the bed, half-sitting, leaning back against the pillows, and draws her near. She rises on her knees above him, hands on his shoulders for balance as his mouth moves to her breasts once more. Meanwhile, his fingers are working slow magic, rubbing lower and lower against her belly until they reach the vee at her thighs. He gently parts the slick folds with his thumb, searching for just the right spot. She cries out when he finds it, and the rest of the household might hear, but she is beyond caring. She sets up their familiar rhythm again, grinding unabashedly against his fingers. She pulls his face up so that she can kiss him. He watches with wonder as she bucks above him, ignoring his own need as he helps her find pleasure. He presses up against her with one long finger, finding her soft and ready, and her eyes snap open at the new sensation.

"More?" he asks, and she nods against his forehead.

A second finger joins the first, and she feels herself stretching, readying for him. She hums against the pressure, rocking against him in earnest now as he marks her neck with his lips. She reaches up to cup her breasts with both hands, and his mouth falls open. In his wildest dreams, he could not have imagined she would be this open, this free with him, and he's surprised by it anew each time they come together. She really is the most seductive thing.

Her breath is becoming ragged now, and she closes her eyes, concentrating. She can feel herself drawn in a tight spiral, balancing on the knife-edge, and suddenly she springs free, riding waves of coursing pleasure until she collapses breathless against him. He catches her, soothing his hands down her back as she nips at his neck. She sinks down into his lap where he is thick and hard and waiting for her. Threading her fingers behind his neck, she raises up slightly and lowers herself down onto him as his head falls back against the pillows. He squeezes her buttocks with both hands, and she gasps at the hot burst of pleasure.

He fills her just to the point of discomfort, but not more, and she bites her lip against the sweet sting. They take languid strokes together initially, learning, their speed increasing as she becomes more bold. She takes his face in her hands as she rises up and slams down again, watching as he finds release, his head tipped back, exposing the arch of his neck to her. He gathers her to him, eyes watering, and he's saying "Love." Love, Love, Love, against her neck. Afterward, they rest on their backs, separated and panting, her right hand holding tight to his left, her hair a diadem, spiked and scattered across the pillow.

Eventually, they will drift toward one another again, and she'll quiet his talk of trouble with her kisses. Deep in the night, he will watch her as she sleeps beside him, the taste of her still on his lips. In the morning, they will hold each other for a long while before parting to go about their day. "You are loved," she will say to him. "You are so very loved."

* * *

* This story was one of the first DA fics I wrote. Since then, I've written a couple of very important companion pieces. In fact, all of my DA-Era fic exists in roughly the same universe. So, this story occurs in April 1919, between Chapter 24 (Closer) and Chapter 25 (Evaporate) of Mystery of Joy. The story also has a directly related sequel: Homecoming. See the full timeline below.

* For eady-of-old, who prompted _slow_; annambates, who prompted _magic; _gelana78, who prompted _squeal_; and autisticmuttluver, who prompted _dress._

* Special thanks to terriejane and gelana78 for speedy beta!

**All of my DA-Era fic exits within roughly the same "canon-style" universe. Stories in order: Mystery of Joy - A Meeting at Night - Homecoming - Sweet Dreams - Hope Traversed at Night - Anything**

* _Meeting at Night_ occurs between Chapter 24 (Closer) and Chapter 25 (Evaporate) of _Mystery of Joy_. _Homecoming_ occurs between Chapter 25 (Evaporate) and the Epilogue of _Mystery of Joy_.


	2. Homecoming

Title: Homecoming - a sequel to A Meeting at Night. You do not necessarily have to read them in order, but it wouldn't hurt.

Author: Lynn Saunders

About: Rated M, definitely not for kids. Lots of sex. Mid-ep for 3.7.

Archive freely, but drop me a line to let me know.

Feedback is fawned over. Please?

* * *

**Homecoming**

by Lynn Saunders

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese  
_

**September 1920**

He is an imposing figure, outlined against the shadow of the heavy iron door, unmistakable in the early morning sunshine. Her eyes drink him in, lingering on his stubbled jaw, his world-weary eyes, the scale and expanse of his body, formidable and intriguing. When his eyes relax into a smile, reflecting her joy back upon her, the world tilts back into place. She turns her face into his shoulder as he catches her in an embrace, breathing in the salt and sweat of him, the scent which had not lingered long enough on her own skin once he was taken away.

Their separation has eaten at her, eroded her spirit, and she has secretly worried that their time apart might temper their physical spark. Now, as he holds her close and kisses her lips, igniting a fire between them that travels out to her fingertips, she knows there will be a reckoning, a fierce coming together. Once they start moving forward, nothing will be able to stop them.

At home, he is greeted warmly and fed. He's finally able to indulge in a nice long soak and shave, but he won't sleep. He lingers in the servants' hall and helps her with her sewing until early afternoon, when she is free to walk the grounds with him. They speak of hopes and dreams, of family, and she finds herself falling easily back in step with him. He has been her best friend for a long while now.

When they return to the main house, she must retire to her room to don her uniform for the evening. He refuses to rest until she finally takes him by the hand and leads him to the stairs. She kisses him gently, looking into his tired eyes. "You should go to bed."

He looks up and down the hallway before pulling her close and pressing his lips to her ear. "I don't want to be without you."

A delicious shiver runs through her, and she takes a shuddering breath. "I wish we could be together, but…" They both know it's not possible, not yet.

He gives her a pained expression, nodding. "I don't know when we'll have the cottage."

She places her small hand against his cheek, and he sighs, leaning into her touch, his eyelids drooping heavily. "John, you need to rest," she says softly, concerned, using his first name to get his attention.

He gives a resigned nod and a small smile, letting his fingers linger against hers before climbing the stairs reluctantly to his old room.

* * *

When he wakes with a start, heart pounding, it's dark outside, the night deep and black, the window smudged with fog. He hears the sound of muffled, strained voices in the hallway, then the rumble of Mr. Carson's reprimands before the house falls silent again. He realizes some scuffle amongst the young men has woken him, not a prison brawl. Tears spring to his eyes, unbidden. _You're safe_, he calms himself. _You're home._

Earlier, he had settled into his small bed, miles more comfortable than his prison bunk, and even though she wasn't with him, his lips still held the faint taste of hers. He had fallen quickly into a sounder sleep than he's had in ages. Now, he misses her, needs her with a longing he struggles to suppress. He is utterly distraught that he slept through the evening and missed her soft, secret goodnight kisses.

He dresses well before the sun breaks the horizon, eager to be near her. He selects a black waistcoat, and as he slips his watch into the pocket, his fingers brush against a wisp of paper. He lifts the scrap, turning it over in his hands and recognizing it instantly. Carefully, he unfolds the little note, rereading the cherished lines she penned on their wedding night, savoring the words anew.

The memories have been imprinted on his mind, played on loop in his head over the time he has been away. He remembers her creamy skin, the arch of her back as she rose above him, tangling his fingers in her beautiful hair in the firelight as she sighed his given name in a feverish whisper. _Our first and last time together_\- the words had cut through his mind as he kissed her fervently in a prison visitation room while the guard fidgeted and looked the other way. She deserves so much more than he has been able offer her, and now he intends to make up for lost time.

He gently refolds the scrap and tucks it into the cover of his mother's Bible for safekeeping. He needs a favor, and he can think of only one person who would be able to help him. _Soon_, he thinks. _Soon._

* * *

_Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove. _

_Guest hall, fourth door on the left._

* * *

He is waiting for her when she comes down to breakfast, and she takes in the sight eagerly, a breath of fresh air. He is buttoned into his familiar wool suit, his hair slicked back. He looks like himself again. They share a chaste kiss at the foot of the stairs, as will be their habit for years to come.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks, adjusting his tie.

He smiles down at her, his thumb skimming the edge of his waistcoat pocket. "I cannot believe you didn't have someone wake me."

"Well," she says, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "You will need your rest."

He steps closer to her, and his large hand comes to rest at the small of her back possessively. "Will I, indeed?"

She clears her throat as Mrs. Hughes bustles by. "We best get on to breakfast, Mr. Bates."

"Mrs. Patmore gave me something already, since I missed dinner." He catches her eye and gives her a meaningful look as he reaches out to slip a folded square of paper into her apron pocket. "I have to look after a few things."

And with that, he presses his lips to the back of her hand and walks away, leaving her breath caught in her throat, burning with anticipation, thinking of what awaited her the last time a note passed between them.

* * *

She hasn't the time or privacy to read the note until the afternoon, but it has been burning a metaphorical hole in her pocket. She ducks into a deserted corridor, reading the secret words that make her cheeks darken and her pupils dilate.

She absolutely cannot wait to meet him. However, on this occasion, she has ample time to prepare. In the evening, she steals away to her room, locking the door behind her. She moves to the top drawer of her dresser, searching until she finds the small box, lined with tissue paper. She rubs the cream silk and lace between her fingers with a smile, remembering the hope in her heart when she made the purchase. She knew even then that he would come back to her. She uses the garters to secure her best black silk stockings and covers this with her simple black dress, thinking of their first time together and his excitement in seeing her this way. Then, she hurries through the house, down the corridor to the room she will always think of as theirs.

* * *

_If these delights thy mind may move, then live with me and be my love._

_You already know the place._

* * *

He's waiting for her with his braces hanging loosely at his sides, the sleeves of his undershirt rolled, exposing the meat of his forearms to her, streaked with soot from starting the fire. His eyes are soft, and his feet are bare. The sight of him, burnished bronze in the firelight, makes something deep within her snap, and she launches herself at him without hesitation.

Her arms fly around his neck, and he catches her, lifting her slightly off of the floor as their mouths meet hotly. No words pass between them as they collapse into the fireside chair. His tongue pushes roughly into her mouth as she settles into his lap. He's growling under her, tracing the boning of her corset with his thumbs as her fingers move to the buttons at his fly.

He catches her hands in his. "Wait."

She pants up at him, love-drunk and confused.

He presses his forehead to hers, gasping for air. "Should we slow down?"

She frees her hands and unfastens the top of his trousers. "No."

He smiles wickedly at her. "Never mind, then."

She gently pushes off of the chair, pulling him to his feet. He turns her, his attention moving to the buttons at the back of her neck, quickly working her out of her dress. Long fingers skim her waist as he reaches around to unclasp her corset. He pulls his undershirt off over his head and presses close, kissing the back of her neck. She turns in his embrace, and her fingers move again to his trousers, the fabric gaping loosely at his waist.

He steps out of his remaining clothing as he backs her against the edge of the bed. She toes out of her heels as he slips her knickers over her hips. She bends to remove her stockings, and he stills her hand.

"No time for that."

She laughs as he lifts her roughly onto the bed and covers her body with his, settling between her legs, and they grin at each other for a moment. She feels somehow more exposed with her chemise and stockings still on, and the sensation makes her burn for him. His fingers run down her thigh, stopping when they encounter the silken rise of her garter.

"France?" he asks, outlining one of the little rosettes trimmed in lace.

"Do you like it?"

He smiles, running his fingers under the edge of the fabric as he pulls her thighs up over his hips in answer. Their lips meet greedily, and he is heavy and solid, wonderful.

"I missed you more than you could ever know," he confides as he moves to enter her.

She blinks back sudden tears. "You're here now."

He kisses her softly, and her breath catches as he sinks into her. She presses her lips against his neck, her teeth marking his shoulder as moves inside her. She rises up to meet him, licking her lips with the thrill of it.

"I can't…" he pants against her neck.

She brushes his sweaty hair off of his forehead, and he looks into her eyes as he thrusts into her again.

"Don't stop," she pleads, head restless against the bed.

He stares at her for a beat before putting his head down against her shoulder and losing himself in her completely. She pulls him closer, fingernails cutting into his back until he sinks down against her with his full weight. She wraps her legs around him, and he squeezes her bottom as he drives into her, inching them sideways across the duvet.

She smiles to herself, reveling in the feel of him, all of him, his broad shoulders and musky smell, his delicious weight rocking against her. She dreamed of these moments while he was away, deep in the night as her fingers slid low across her belly, thinking of how he'd made her come undone in only one real night together. She could recall the tastes and colors, the slide of his skin against hers, but her attempts were a poor substitute for his confident touch. He always seems to know just how to bring her out of herself, and she aims to take full advantage of his presence now.

His breath quickens, and she urges him on, feeling a familiar stirring deep from within. It blooms and grows just a touch too late, as he sighs his release against her collarbone. She smooths her small hands across his back as he bucks against her again, then stills, but she can't stop moving beneath him, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin behind his ear.

He props up on his elbows and touches her face, looking into her eyes. "I love you, Anna."

"And I love you."

He exhales deeply and rolls them onto their sides, leaning his head on his elbow as she writhes against him. She takes his free hand and places it low on her belly, settling onto her back beside him.

He smiles down at her, dragging the backs of his fingers against her sensitive center. "Is that what you want?"

She nods, wetting her lips. "Touch me."

His fingers slip between her thighs as he turns her, tucking her against him, her back to his chest. He listens to her murmurs of appreciation as he finds just the right rhythm, and she tells him how she missed him, how good he feels, of lying awake at night, burning with the want of him.

"Oh," she says, "oh…" as she shatters against him.

She turns in his embrace and curls into him. Her chemise is damp with sweat, and he buries his face between her breasts, breathing in the heady scent of their lovemaking as they drift together in the firelight. After a moment, she pushes gently at his shoulder.

"John."

He hums a drowsy response, making her giggle.

"John," she says more forcefully, and he opens one eye to look at her, reluctant to move. "I just need to get out of the rest of my things," she says with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, in that case…" He gently separates himself from her, and she rises to peel off her undergarments as he watches with more than passing interest.

She tugs at the bedclothes, and he groans, rising to unmake the bed before settling under the covers.

"Come here," he says, extending a hand to his wife, the bare-skinned, glowing vision beside him. He settles her back against him as they bundle in the covers and the fire pops and cracks, sleeping in each other's arms with nothing between them for only the second time in all their years of loving.

* * *

When she wakes, the fire has burned low on the hearth. He's pressed against her back, dragging his nose across her shoulder blades.

She giggles. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he says innocently. "Why do you ask?" He nuzzles her neck and presses his nose behind her ear, inhaling deeply before taking her earlobe between his lips. She closes her eyes, finding his hand with hers and guiding his rough fingers around to palm her breast. His right thumb circles her peaked nipple in a maddening dance.

He eases her onto her belly, teasing her legs apart as he settles against her from behind. He brushes the hair from the back of her neck and leans over so that he can see her face. "Is this alright?"

She blinks at him over her shoulder. "Of course."

He kisses her neck, the ticklish spot behind her ear, the rise of her shoulder. She pushes her bottom back against him, and he groans deep in his throat. Then he's rocking against her, deep inside her again, whispering to her as he pushes her apart.

She growls into the pillow as he takes slow strokes, his arms shaking as he spares her the full weight of his body, balancing on his left knee. She meets his thrusts with her own, grinding back against him, but he seems determined to keep the pace subdued. She grips the bedclothes, and her frustration is not lost on him.

"More?" he asks, smoky voice against her ear.

She nods with her eyes closed, turning her burning face into the pillow as she eggs him on, hoping her soft gasps of pleasure convey what she can't articulate - that she wants him fast and hard, that she wants to be forever marked as his.

He shifts them, pulling her hips toward him and rising fully onto his knees behind her as she sighs into the pillow. He's moving deep within her, colliding fully with her at every push, and it almost hurts, but she loves it, loves him for it. His hands spread flat across the curve of her waist, spanning it easily, his fingers squeezing the flesh as he strokes into her again and again, leaning slightly to the left.

He hitches up within her, and she groans. He repeats the movement, gauging her response. "There?"

She hums her appreciation, and he continues the movement until she feels herself about to fly apart. Suddenly, he hisses and stills against her.

"What?" she asks in a panicked whisper, almost crying at the abrupt loss of sensation.

He doesn't answer, smoothing his hands over her back and beginning to move again tentatively. He sighs and halts against her once more.

"Your knee?"

"I'm sorry." He disengages from her and rolls to a sitting position behind her. She turns and crawls into his outstretched arms.

"Never you mind." She eases onto his legs and takes in the long, slick length of him once more. "I rather like you this way, Mr. Bates."

He chuckles, running his fingers through her hair as her hips roll against his. She huffs with pleasure, leaning back to find that delicious angle again, and her breasts bob enticingly in front of his face. He holds tight to her hips for leverage as she grips his thick shoulders and begins to move against him in earnest. She rises and falls, his sturdy length coming up hard inside her, and she feels raw, wanton and undone, tossing her golden hair, her eyes clamped shut. She slides her fingers down to move between her legs, and he catches her hand, pulling it away gently. He brings her fingers into his mouth, groaning at her raw flavor, the taste of their coming together.

"God, Anna," he sighs, and she feels herself tightening around him, starting to fall over the edge. She leans forward so that her breasts are pressed against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her tightly as she sighs his name against his lips with her release.

Then he's rolling them, tucking her underneath him as he moves into her roughly. He bites his lip as he comes into her, tasting blood on his tongue. She soothes his swollen lip with her kisses as he collapses against her, out of breath. She clutches him against her chest as their bodies cool and wonders how she will get the feel of him out of her mind long enough to go about her work.

* * *

She reluctantly slips from the bed in the wee hours of the morning, pulling him with her. They dress in the dark, and he holds her for a long while before they part for the day.

She sighs, leaning into him. "I don't want to leave."

"I'll see you at breakfast." He smiles against her hair. "And in the afternoon. I'm home, and I'm not going away again."

"No, it's not that." She eases back in his embrace so that she can see his face. "When we're together…"

He threads his fingers through hers and kisses the back of her delicate hand. "When we're together like this, you mean?"

"Yes." She gives him a small smile before continuing. "I feel… consumed, and when I have to leave you to go about my day, it hurts." She runs her fingers under his lapels. "I'm being silly, of course. It's probably something you've gotten used to."

"On the contrary," he replies, cupping her shoulder blades with his hands, "it's never been like this with anyone. Not for me."

She looks down, embarrassed and disbelieving.

He tilts her chin and looks into her eyes. "Never."

She reaches up to touch his face, and he catches her hand, pressing something cool and metallic into her palm. She blinks down at the small key.

"And we will have the cottage in a few days," he says.

She gives him a questioning smile.

"We will," he says firmly.

"What have you been up to?"

He pulls her close and kisses her as the sun slips above the horizon. "Live with me, Anna, and be my love."

* * *

* Timing for S3E7 is uncertain. APA has in her timeline that Bates comes home the day before they walk the grounds together. However, I've always thought of these events occurring on the same day. In the end, that's how I left it because that's what felt right to me.

* For gibbsgalsa, who requested a second chapter to Meeting at Night on .

* Special thanks to gelana78 and terriejane for beta.

* Anna and Bates reference a poem in their notes to one another: The Passionate Shepherd to His Love by Christopher Marlowe

All of my DA-Era fic exits within roughly the same "canon-style" universe. Stories in order: Mystery of Joy - A Meeting at Night - Homecoming - Sweet Dreams - Hope Traversed at Night - Anything

* _A Meeting at Night_ occurs between Chapter 24 (Closer) and Chapter 25 (Evaporate) of _Mystery of Joy_. _Homecoming_ occurs between Chapter 26 (Vigil) and the remaining chapters of _Mystery of Joy_.


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